


What you'll swallow

by Askellie (NadaNine)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, Alternate Universe -- Mermaids, Asphyxiation, Drowning, Dubious Consent, Fellcest - Freeform, Fontcest, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Master/Pet, Merskeleton, Non-Consensual, Not actually incest since they're unrelated here, Sexual Slavery, merman, ridiculously shameless au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-10-14 06:49:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10531137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: Sans was lucky to survive the storm, even if it left him stranded in the middle of the ocean with no savior in sight.Until another skeleton finds him, but this one belongs to the depths, and now Sans belongs to him.Maybe he's not so lucky after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the incredibly sexy artwork of [stwdyb](http://stwdyb.tumblr.com/post/158171862380/mermaid). Merskeletons, guys. It's now a thing.

Sans cringed and hung on for dear life as another swelling wave threatened to separate him from the narrow board that was barely keeping him afloat. He spluttered, coughing up the salt water that had splashed in through his eye-sockets and nose-cavity, kicking weakly to try and stay balanced. Skeletons weren’t made to float, and this last remnant of his ship was the only thing keeping his bones from sinking to the bottom.

He was lucky to have found it, lucky to have survived, but now that the deadly storm had cleared he found himself facing an empty horizon of unbroken ocean with no land or ships in sight. He’d tried to pick a direction to swim towards, but his lack of experience in the water left him at the mercy of every buffering wave, and without landmarks he had no way of knowing whether he’d made any progress.

The sun was starting to set again. He was tired, hungry, and dreading another night trying to fervently keep himself awake enough to keep clinging to his board. If he lost grip in his sleep, he’d probably drown before he even realised what was happening. It might even be kinder that way, but he wasn’t yet so resigned that he felt ready to die.

He lay his head down against the wood for a moment, giving himself a moment to rest and catch his breath, only to be startled from his daze by an unexpectedly close splash of something breaking the surface of the water.

“F-fuck!” He almost lost grip on the board again, frantically clawing at its edges until its wobbling surface subsided. He glanced around but couldn’t see anything in his immediate vicinity, but the way the waves rose and shifted around him made it difficult to check his surroundings thoroughly.

He had no blood or meat that might draw the unwanted attention of any predators, but that knowledge wasn’t as much of a reassurance as it should have been. His soul pounded with unpleasant fright in his chest, and he tried vainly to calm it down.

“Just imagined it,” he tried to reassure himself, but he kept his body as still as possible in the water just in case. If there was something there, maybe he could fool it into thinking he was just an extension of the debris he was clinging to; nothing interesting, and definitely nothing worth taking a bite out of. He nearly succeeded in convincing himself whatever it was must have left when something smooth and slippery lashed against his ankle.

He shrieked, panic momentarily overriding both dignity and sense as he kicked out at whatever it was. Nothing connected, but the violent swirl of water around his legs – from his own movement or the thing in the water, he couldn’t tell – only unnerved him further. He lunged backwards, bobbing awkwardly in the water, legs curling close to his body as if to keep them protected.

“Holy fucking fuck-!” Sans tried to heave himself out of the water as much as possible, but his board was barely as long as his forearms and certainly wasn’t large enough for even someone of his size to take refuge on. He looked into the water around him in vain, but this part of the ocean was dark and dense. He couldn’t make out anything, and a part of him fearfully pointed out that maybe seeing it coming would be worse.

He couldn’t do anything except wait and listen and cling frantically to the board whilst feeling the currents moving around him. Another nearby splash startled another convulsion of panic, and this time when he turned around he briefly caught a glimpse of something long and sleek vanishing deeper into the water behind him.

Hesitantly, he summoned a small, sharp bone to his hand. He didn’t have much magic left to spare – not after using most of it to throw his soul clear of the sinking ship and keep himself afloat until he’d found something to hold on to. He could try aiming a bone at a distance, but chances are he’d miss his target trying to aim through the refractive surface of the water. Besides, his attacks barely did any damage. His only hope was to land a hit on something vital, like an eye or a gill, and hope that whatever was stalking him decided he was too difficult a meal to bother with.

When he finally did see it, however, he wasn’t remotely ready for it. It emerged out of the depths right in front of him, and though every bone in his body was poised to attack, he hesitated at the sight of clean white bones – just like his own – breaking the surface. It was another skeleton, broad shouldered and marred with a scar across their face. For a wild moment he wondered if they were another survivor from the ship, but he’d made a point of getting to know everyone on board and this stranger definitely hadn’t been among them. He’d certainly have noticed another of his kind, especially one so striking.

The other skeleton reached out with deceptive swiftness and took hold of his wrist. For a moment, Sans just boggled uncomprehendingly before he realised his hand was still upraised and holding his bone spike. He thoughtlessly released it, assuming the stranger wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to get stabbed in the face before they got down to business about what the hell they were both doing in the middle of the ocean.

The moment his weapon was gone, the other skeleton grinned at him – a fierce expression of victory in a jaw full of surprisingly sharp fangs – and before Sans could utter a word he suddenly felt himself being yanked by his shirtfront and pulled downward, his board torn from his grasp as the other skeleton forced him under the water.

In his shock, it took him a moment to start struggling, but once he realised what was happening panic set in full force. His skull quickly filled up with water, taking away any hope of buoyancy. Choking on his last mouthful of air, he lashed out blindly at the other skeleton, twisting and kicking violently, more than willing to shred his shirt if it meant getting away but the other simply transferred his hold onto Sans’s flailing wrists and continued to tug him deeper into the water. He couldn’t string together enough of a coherent thought to try summon his magic again – not when every ounce of his being was focusing on his imminent suffocation.

The light seemed to fade quickly; either they were moving away from the surface faster than he would have guessed, or his vision was going as he started to suffocate. He wasn’t practiced at holding his breath, and his violent struggle quickly exhausted all the air in his body. Against every instinct telling him not to, his mouth automatically opened to draw in the air he desperately needed, and nothing but water rushed into his throat. He choked, body seizing, a horrible pain burning in his chest that consumed him completely.

Can’t breathe. Hurts. Gonna die.

All his senses faded into a murky numbness, and he was on the verge of giving in to unconsciousness when he felt something force his teeth further apart and slip into his mouth. It burned, not with heat but with magic, exuding something thicker than the water that coated the floor of his mouth and the deeper recesses of his skull. It felt disgusting, invasive, and instinctively he formed his tongue to try and push the invader out only to have it tangled and trapped in place with yet more mucus being secreted directly onto his tastebuds. He forced his eyelights to spark again, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and suddenly found himself staring directly into the scarred sockets of the other skeleton whose mouth was pressing forcefully against his own in a gesture that was uncomfortably like–

–a kiss?

His throat clenched in a sharp inhale of shock, and though he only expected to choke further he felt something pulse and stir down his spine and he breathed. Not air but water, somehow, and though it wasn’t comfortable or pleasant he felt the burning knot in his chest incrementally loosen as he gasped desperately, feeling his body adapt to the bizarre sensation. His mouth tingled with magic, and he found himself staring dumbly as the other skeleton finally drew back from the kiss to smirk at him.

“There you go, little airbreather,” the skeleton said, their voice oddly clear and resonant in the water. They stroked Sans’s skull, condescendingly soothing his panic. “I won’t let you drown.”

It felt unnatural, inhaling water instead of air. The motion was much thicker and more sluggish against his neckbones, leaving him feeling light-headed and drained, but he was staying conscious, at least. It gave him an opportunity to look at his assailant more carefully, and though he’d thought it would be too dark to see anything he quickly realised there was a steady crimson glow that revealed the alarming reality of his situation.

The other was only a skeleton from the waist up. Below that, his spine faded into a thick tail made of red scales and magic that clearly marked him as a denizen of the ocean and not of land like Sans had thought. His own legs were limply straddling the other’s hips, their bodies settled far too close to each other for Sans’s comfort.

He tried to push out of the other’s hold, attempting to snarl an objection, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a flurry of bubbles. Apparently whatever magic was allowing him to breathe didn’t also let him talk like the merman had.

Surprisingly, the merman simply let him go, but as Sans tumbled backwards he only realised how completely unsuited he was for deep water. His limbs didn’t have enough breadth for him to buffer the water for forward momentum, and his bones were too dense to float naturally. Toppling off the merman’s mid-section only made him start to sink faster, completely helpless in the void of the ocean.

“And what are you going to do now, little airbreather?” the merman asked, gliding effortlessly to parallel Sans’s much more graceless descent. The red glow of his tail cast stark shadows across his scarred, grinning face, but allowed Sans to see him more clearly. Sans thought it was an unusual affectation that the other wore long gloves, nearly the same shade as his magic, that ended with ragged hems at the elbows. His only other clothing was a cloak across his shoulders that rippled dramatically in the water, trailing behind him like a second tail. “My magic won’t keep you breathing forever. In fact, it should wear off very soon.”

Something unpleasant tightened in his chest – either dread setting in or possibly the first tremor of his body trying to reject the water he was breathing. The strange mucus the other had deposited in his mouth was starting to thin. Sans put his hands over his mouth, willing it not to fade, but he knew it was useless.

“Your only choice is to stay with me,” the merman pointed out reasonably, but the sheer smugness in his tone made Sans glare. If anything, that only seemed to amuse the other more. “Unless you’d rather drown.”

The merman held out a hand towards Sans in a clear, unspoken offer. Much as he hated it, Sans had no choice. Take his chances with the other monster, or fall towards the bottom of the sea to be crushed or suffocated. He wondered if it mattered that the other was still offering him a choice, however skewed and unfair it might be.

Grudgingly, Sans reached out and grabbed the other’s hand. Immediately he was pulled back to the merman’s bony chest, cradled in an almost tender hold. A few strokes of the other’s powerful tail reoriented them to what Sans thought was probably an upright position, but this far below the surface he’d lost all perspective and couldn’t be sure.

“Good boy,” the merman crooned, his hands surprisingly careful on Sans even if his hold felt discomfortingly possessive. “Now open up for me.”

He leaned in, and though Sans’s first instinct was to flinch backwards and tell the bastard to go to hell, he was too desperate to refuse. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth again, letting the other force his strange tongue inside. A part of him was still faintly disgusted as his mouth and tongue were painted in whatever strange magic the other was using, but the deep-seated relief of still being able to breathe made him press unwillingly against the other’s mouth, a burble of sound thrumming in the back of his throat.

This time the motion felt much more like a kiss, but a brutal one, the other’s tongue dominating his mouth, plundering the inside of his jaw and questing near the back of his throat. Sans found himself trembling slightly, the sensation bordering on overwhelming, and just before he thought he might very well pass out from an entirely different reason the merman finally pulled back.

“Yes,” he mused, beaming at Sans’s dazed, vulnerable expression. “You’ll make a very good pet. I think I’ll keep you.”


	2. Chapter 2

The merman moved them swiftly through the currents, keeping Sans’s body tucked close against his chest to reduce the water resistance, though he didn’t seem to be struggling at all with the weight of his passenger. Sans wasn’t sure if he was in some sort of hurry, or if he always moved so quickly. Either way, he found the pace disorienting because he couldn’t see anything around them in the murky ocean; no landmarks and nothing but the incremental increase in pressure to suggest they were heading deeper into the depths.

The knowledge was disconcerting to Sans, but not quite as much as the more immediate hazard of running out of air. Every few minutes his throat would start to go tight, the tingle of magic in his mouth fading, and he’d paw desperately at his captor to remind him that it was running out. The bastard always took his time responding too, making a show of checking their surroundings (his eyesight was probably much better adapted for this depth than Sans’s, but Sans wasn’t ready to discount the possibility that he was just being an immense prick) and performing a sinuous roll to reverse their positions so Sans was once again balanced above him before crushing the smaller skeleton’s mouth to his own.

The whole exchange was alarmingly exhilarating. For a moment his cumbersome body felt weightless, like he was floating, and as his mouth was ravaged by a demanding tongue and careless teeth the first breath of fresh oxygen would rush into his body with a euphoric high that made every sensation feel sharp and overwhelming. He hated it. His body would tremble, and despite the icy grip of cold water on his bones, he’d feel a mortifying flush of heat making its way down his spine. He desperately hoped the merman didn’t notice.

Though judging from his satisfied mug smile and the way his hands groped possessively over Sans’s body, he was probably shit out of luck.

A sudden wrenching dive had Sans clinging tightly to the merman’s neck, yelping from reflex and emitting only a distressed flurry of bubbles instead of sound. He had only a moment to spy their intended destination – a strange conical hill protruding from the ocean floor, looking almost like a small volcano with its sloping sides and the circular opening at its peak – before they were darting through its dark mouth.

“This is it. Welcome to my cave, little airbreather,” the merman told him, sounding far too pleased with himself. Beyond the lip of the entrance there was a thick curtain of reeds that the merman pushed through with obviously practice. Sans spluttered, closing his eyes against the intrusive caress of slimy leaves and tickling tendrils, and was therefore completely unprepared for the merman to detach him with an effortless shove and send Sans into freefall towards the bottom.

Of course, the fall wasn’t terribly fast, nor terribly far, but being suddenly adrift without the questionable protection of the merman’s arms was a lot more unsettling than Sans would have guessed. He flailed awkwardly, trying to orient himself, only to pause in utter distraction as he got a better look at his surroundings.

The inside of the mound had been hollowed out into a large room that seemed to host a bizarre assortment of sunken treasures. Furrows has been carved out into the walls, probably with the merman’s own claws, acting as shelves to hold his collection of surface-world paraphernalia. Sans recognised segments of ships, folded sails, rusted anchors and gnarled figureheads. One shelf seemed dedicated entirely to child-like toys; small dolls of wood and porcelain, their woolen hair and yarn clothing carefully preserved as they sat arranged in an unusual scene that almost looked like some sort of battle. There was an array of weapons; daggers and cutlesses, even a couple of pistols placed on proud display.

And then there was the treasure.

Gold. Jewelry. Pressed coins in more patterns than Sans could recognise. Small chests overflowing with strings of pearls and chains of silver. It was more wealth than he’d ever seen in his life, and for a moment he was taken aback by the sheer audacity of having it just sitting out in the open instead of locked away, but then again, who would dare come all the way down here to steal it?

The merman himself seemed indifferent to his obscene riches. He only regarded Sans’s slowly sinking body with an intensity that was almost flattering; like he was the most valuable thing in the room despite how absurd that was. “As much as I’ll enjoy pandering to you, pet, it’s going to become bothersome if you can’t leave my side. Lucky for you, the Great and Terrible Papyrus has already divined a solution!”

Bemused, Sans cocked an unimpressed eyebrow at the merman. “The Great and Terrible Papyrus”? Who introduced themselves with such a ridiculous title? Sans was maintaining a rightful wariness for the strange monster, but that introduction made it a little more difficult to take him seriously. Apparently his unintimidated expression wasn’t the reaction Papyrus was hoping for. With a nasty scowl, he pounced on Sans, his powerful tail propelling them both down towards the bottom of the cave.

Sans’s back hit the ocean floor, and even cushioned by the sand it’s enough to send a warning jolt up his spine. His outraged snarl was silent – nothing but a flurry of angry bubbles spitting from between his teeth as he lashed out indignantly. Papyrus simply captured one of his ankles to inhibit his kicking legs, and with unscrupulous finesse he started to tug Sans’s shorts down to his knees.

Asshole! Sans tried to screech, valiantly trying to save his clothing, but the brief tug-of-war ended badly for him when the merman simply flexed his claws and let the material shred between them. Sans stared at the torn, useless piece he’d managed to hold onto, and furiously cast it aside, turning his glare back on the smug bastard who was now examining his bare foot with intense interest.

“Such a weak, useless limb,” Papyrus appraised, prodding curiously at the delicate tarsals. The odd pressure of his claw was more ticklish than painful, and Sans let out another splutter of bubbles, trying to draw his captured leg back to safety. His graceless flailing only seemed to draw the other’s attention down the length of his shin and femur to the now naked expanse of his pelvis.

Papyrus tried to draw his leg aside to get a better look. Sans flung an arm out and smacked him in the face with a weak but well-aimed bone construct.

“Augh!” The merman reeled back, clutching the scarred socket that Sans had instinctively targeted. In spite of his pitiful attack damage, the old injury was clearly some sort of weak point, and for a moment he felt a flush of satisfaction before the furious twist of the other’s expression reminded him that there was no victory to be gained.

“Don’t test me, airbreather,” Papyrus growled, the angry pitch of his voice seeming to make the water itself tremble. “I can still leave you to drown.”

Sans hesitated, unpleasantly aware that it would be all too easy for the merman to make good on that threat. He could already feel the magic in his mouth starting to thin again, leaving him struggling to draw a satisfying breath. It didn’t help that the enormous pressure of the ocean around him made his chest feel compressed, reminding him that his ability to breathe could vanish at any moment.

He wasn’t sure what kind of ‘solution’ required him to lose his clothing, though. He glared up balefully, but barely resisted as Papyrus pried his tense arms to uncurl and dragged his shirt over his head. Since fighting for his shorts had just resulted in their tearing, Sans hoped to spare his shirt the same fate and reluctantly allowed it to be taken. The merman tossed it aside and let his gaze rove unabashedly over Sans’s body.

Sans tried not to flush. He’d been forced to shed his jacket in the storm, since the heavy fabric had only threatened to sink him faster. His shoes had come off at some point in the maelstrom of wind and waves, so with his last two garments taken from him, he was left entirely naked. Of course Papyrus himself wasn’t wearing much either, but the magic of his tail extending from the lowest of his ribs to the tip of his body obscured anything indecent…

…or so Sans thought, but as Papyrus angled himself over Sans’s prone body, his gloved hand travelled down to palm his scaled belly right above where Sans guessed his pelvis would be, and as he watched the magical flesh gently undulated and then split in a bloodless seam beneath his fingers. Sans stared, wondering if he should be horrified or fascinated by the change, before realising that something was starting to emerge from the new opening. The new protrusion was magical, just like Papyrus’s tail, but this part was much more concentrated, burning brightly like an ember, dark red and pulsing. The hypnotising glow was so distracting it actually too him a moment to realise what he was looking at.

The shape was bizarre to him – too curved and angular, with a ridged surface and cruel looking clasps, but he eventually came to the profound and aghast realisation that Papyrus had just taken his dick out, and was looking at Sans expectantly.

He immediately scuttled backwards like an offended crab, blatant horror almost making him choke on his next unsatisfying breath.

No way, he mouthed, trying to exaggerate the movements enough to be understandable. Absolutely fucking not.

Papyrus leered at him, showing off each and every one of his fanged teeth. “It’s much easier to concentrate the magic like this. Are you inexperienced, little airbreather? I won’t hold it against you.”

Sans shook his head violently, not caring if the merman took that as an answer to his question. Sans had gotten through life without the necessity of sucking anyone’s cock so far, and he’d be damned if he did so now…although the distant, rational part of his brain was unhappily aware that he had maybe a minute left before the magic in his mouth dispersed, and at that point his willingness wouldn’t need to be taken into consideration.

Papyrus could probably force it now, if he wanted. Sans was weak and clumsy in the water, too heavy and slow to put up much resistance, but rather than pounce on him again Papyrus only drifted closer in a leisurely arc, the hand at his waist now gripping the shaft of his cock, entirely shameless. It seemed to please him that Sans couldn’t look away, and as he watched the merman began to stroke himself, bony fingers moving with delicate ripples along his ecto-flesh. Its crimson glow began to brighten even further, a warm, enticing glow that made something unwanted and instinctive pulse in his chest. He dared to glance down at himself, and was mortified by the hint of his own magical flush starting to bleed from between the bones of his vertebrae, travelling inexorably downward.

He immediately snapped his knees together, trying to obscure the evidence, but with so little light in the cave, his magic’s subtle illumination was impossible to hide. Papyrus’s eyelights were two small flares of heated intent.

“Just try a little,” he coaxed, his fist closing around his length and squeezing tightly enough for a low groan to permeate his already abrasive voice. It was a guttural, animalistic sound that did nothing to deter the interest sparking its way down Sans’s spine. As he watched, a small bead of new liquid seeped from the tip of Papyrus’s strange organ. It must have been denser than the water around it, because it stayed together instead of dissolving apart, soft and jelly-like as it smeared on the forefinger of Papyrus’s gloves. Sans was so enraptured with the perverse display he hadn’t realised Papyrus had come so close until the merman’s palm was suddenly against his mouth, smearing pre-come against Sans’s teeth. “Taste it.”

Sans reeled back reflexively, trying to turn his head away in disgust, but Papyrus’s gripped him with effortless strength, prying his mandible open so two fingers could push their way into Sans’s mouth and force the substance onto the small skeleton’s tongue.

The taste was…indescribable.

It was hard to tell if it was naturally salty or if that was just the influence of the water around it. The most prominent characteristic was the heat of it, even more potent than that of the merman’s saliva. It burned like his favourite mustard, a sharp tang on his tastebuds that seared the back of his throat, and after that came a heady rush of sweetness as fresh, beautiful oxygen was drawn into him so powerfully it was almost orgasmic. His body arched, toes curling, eyes rolling with something even more gratifying that pure relief. It was like he was breathing opium rather than air – a substance unfamiliar and utterly ambrosial.

It felt like his soul had been kickstarted with a bolt of lightning. The sluggish exhaustion was sloughed from his bones, and his chest heaved like he’d just run a marathon and could easily run several more. If the air he breathed could have expanded in his chest, he was sure his ribs would have burst outward from the amount he was trying to gulp down, but already that spike of overwhelming rapture was fading along with the taste of Papyrus in his mouth. Sans blinked numbly up at the merman, who was looking down at him with an expression that was pleased, if a little bemused. He patted Sans’s skull as if applauding an obedient pet.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Papyrus asked, his tail swaying in the water to hold him in place, cock bobbing with the faint movements. “You may have to consume significantly more in order to-hurk!”

Sans lunged for him, fiercely grabbing the merman by the hips and dragging him closer, using his own inert weight as an anchor. He wasted no time at all lining his mouth up with Papyrus’s cock and lapping desperately at the head, trying to coax more magic from it.

Papyrus made a flustered sound, grabbing the branching spans of Sans’s collarbones, but seemed to hesitate on whether to shove him away or hold him in place. “W-wait, airbreather, go slo-ow-ow-owlyyyyaaahhh!”

Sans had no patience for slow. His persistent licking only garnered him a small taste of the precious elixir – not nearly enough to satisfy him. He grabbed the base of the shaft with both hands, jerking it roughly, his hazy mind less intent on pleasuring as it was with stimulating. The tapered tip of the organ fit pleasantly between his teeth, not entirely unlike the serving bottles Grillby tended to use, and he suckled avidly, letting his tongue explore the rigid spines around the circumference, testing them for sensitivity.

He must have been doing something right, because Papyrus was thrashing against with incoherent howls of arousal. Distantly, he wondered if the merman’s accusation of inexperience ran both ways.

“E-enough!” Papyrus tried to order, gasping almost as much as Sans was. He was finally agitated enough to try pushing Sans away, but the small skeleton clung with frenzied strength, his blunt phalanges groping the smooth, scaled planes of Papyrus’s backside. Papyrus’s spine went stiff with surprise before he rallied himself with a vengeful snarl, and finally tore Sans’s hands free and pinned him back against the wall. Sans let out a soundless wail, certain he was about to be left bereft, but almost immediately Papyrus was jerking his hips forwards, thrusting right through Sans’s surprised, parted teeth and deep into his throat.

Too deep to taste, and for that Sans groaned in protest, but the blissful high was starting to override his mindless urgency, his limbs going slack with contented delirium. Papyrus kept his wrists pinned over his head, the back of Sans’s skull pressing hard to the wall as his mouth was stretched and filled. Aside from that first violent motion, Papyrus didn’t really thrust into him. Instead his member seemed to twitch and swell, the clasps flexing to hook themselves in place with a pressure that might have been unpleasant if he wasn’t so dazed by magical intoxication. He was weakly aware of feeling claustrophobically trapped, helpless and yet somehow immensely aroused right before a hot gush of come flooded his throat, forcing him to swallow.

And swallow and swallow. There seemed to be far more of it than he would have expected from an ordinary ejaculation, but even if he couldn’t taste it anymore just the thickness and heat of it inside him made him feel unbearably satisfied. He moaned, letting the sound vibrate viscerally around his overstuffed mouth. A final torrent of magic was spurted inside him before Papyrus finally withdrew, releasing Sans’s slack wrists and letting them drift down to his sides.

Papyrus looked amusingly dishevelled, his scarf askew and a furious haze of crimson exuding from his bones like an underwater sweat. He panted unevenly, looking down at Sans. “That was…a respectable effort. Your enthusiasm is very promising as this may need to become a regular part of your upkeep…pet?”

He seemed to belatedly realised that not a single word he said had any hope of penetrating Sans’s inebriated haze. The small skeleton had flopped back against the wall, splayed limbs twitching but strengthless, eye-lights blown wide and bright as lighthouse beams, but empty.

“Right,” Papyrus continued bravely, absently brushing himself off. “I have important business to attend to so…I expect you to behave while I’m gone.”

Sans didn’t move or react in any way. Papyrus frowned worriedly, but quickly wiped the concern from his jagged features. A stern and confident demeanor was integral to training a new pet, or so he’d heard. That held true for the fierce dogshark mounts of the royal guard, so surely it extended to the training of airbreathers too.

He tentatively patted his new pet on the skull again, hoping maybe positive reinforcement might still encourage his pet to remain compliant even if his new unresponsive state was faintly unsettling.

“Stay,” Papyrus ordered, largely unessesarily, and hastily turned to leave, swimming at a gait too swift to be purely economical. He’d have to ask his brother about the specifics of the oxygen spell just to ensure he’d done everything correctly.


End file.
